Earth Has No Sorrow That Heaven Cannot Heal

Hello Holy Land!

Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit friends in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Ever since attending the Christ at the Checkpoint conference eight months ago, I have looked forward to returning to these two cities. It was such a pleasure to walk around the Old City of Jerusalem again, to come face-to-face with the separation barrier in Bethlehem again, to converse with Palestinian Christians again.

Of course, there were also some new experiences! Two highlights:

Worshipping with a Messianic Jewish congregation in the Old City...

...and participating in an olive harvest!

This is Megan Giesecke, a dear friend from Wheaton. She is also an intern with the Mennonite Central Committee’s SALT program this year, and she is working at Sabeel Ecumenical Liberation Theology Center.

This is Andrew Childress, a dear friend from the days of home-schooling and youth group. He is teaching English at a school in Beit Jala (a Palestinian community next to Bethlehem). 

Behind this fence is a segment of the separation barrier in east Jerusalem. We cannot accurately refer to this segment as a security barrier (no matter how much we might want to) for the simple reason that it is not even situated between Palestinians and Israelis: Palestinians are on both sides. The Israeli government chose to construct this segment of the wall right through a Palestinian community. Hence my word choice.  

As I said, it was such a pleasure to re-live some of the experiences from my previous trip to Israel/Palestine. But there was one experience from that trip which I was grateful not to re-live. I want to share that experience with you now. 

On our group’s final morning in the Holy Land, several of us decided to wake up early, take a taxi to the pedestrian checkpoint in Bethlehem, go through the same checkpoint that Palestinians go through on their way to work in Jerusalem, and catch a bus into the city for an early morning of exploration. 

It was a great plan, and a great morning. Except for one part. 

For those of you who don’t know, Bethlehem is a thoroughly Palestinian community in which thousands of Palestinian sisters and brothers in Christ live. But Bethlehem is also, for those of you who don’t know, a kind of prison. It is surrounded by the separation barrier, and any resident who leaves the city must pass through one of a few Israeli-controlled checkpoints. So they can come and go...just not freely.

We arrive at the checkpoint at 6:00 AM. It’s cold, and we’re relieved to see a small coffee stand nearby. The owner cheerfully refuses our money. 

Immediately, I am struck by two observations.

First, the line. 

Around five feet wide, around fifty yards long. Demarcated by metal bars on both sides. Looks like a prison, works like a cage. It is packed. Hundreds and hundreds of Palestinian men, young and old, are squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder and front to back. Like animals. Dozens of men have not yet entered the cage and are cramming to get in. Apparently, this line can start as early as three in the morning. Morning after morning after morning. 

Second, the other line.

It is right next to the first. No metal bars. No people. It is an empty and open path that leads directly to the checkpoint. 

The first line is for Palestinians. The second line is for anybody else. 

(Pictures at http://972mag.com/bethlehem17712/17712/) 

Our group walks past the Palestinians with painful ease. I make eye contact once -- never again. Not because they were trying to shame us, but because they didn’t have to. 

They live here. They have always lived here. They have worked these jobs for years and years, and they used to go to them freely, but around a decade ago the Israeli government decided to change that. Now they wake up hours earlier than is necessary, so that they can stand in a line and be treated like livestock until an 18-year-old punk with a gun gives them permission to go to work. 

These are our sisters and brothers in Christ. 

Lord have mercy on those who allow their foremost familial allegiance to be trumped by a political one. 

The Situation Improves (While Another Digresses)

Thank you for your prayers, friends. After four days of chaos throughout the country, things finally calmed down on Saturday (http://jordantimes.com/calm-prevails-throughout-jordan-following-fuel-price-riots). Although protests will certainly continue, the pandemonium almost certainly won’t. It looks like sanity is settling in again -- one death, dozens of injuries, and two hundred arrests later. 

In light of the situation’s improvement, you might consider replacing your prayers for Jordan and me with prayers for Gaza and Israel (http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/11/2012111842933654975.html). 

Prayer requests...

• For the families and friends of the three Israelis who have died and several dozen who are wounded. May their grief move them towards God, not hatred and violence.
• For the families and friends of the 72 Palestinians who have died and over four hundred who are wounded (the majority of whom are civilians). May their grief move them towards God, not hatred and violence.
• Against the terrorism of Hamas, which has fired rockets towards Tel Aviv and induced widespread fear in the nation of Israel
• Against the terrorism of Israel, which has fired rockets at obvious civilian locations (including media centers and factories) and induced widespread fear in an impoverished and oppressed people
• For the cessation of attacks now
• For the advancement of reconciliation soon

You might also check out these two short pieces on the conflict by a young and promising Palestinian evangelical theologian: http://muntherisaac.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/the-employment-of-religion-in-gaza-war.html?spref=fb. And http://muntherisaac.blogspot.com/2012/11/there-are-only-losers-in-war.html 

Grace and Peace,

Willy

The Situation

Hello friends. 

Please pray for Jordan, as violent protests and riots broke out across the country on Tuesday night, and it looks like things might be heating up instead of cooling down (if you wanna read more about it, check out http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/11/2012111421456916947.html). The generally tame “Jordanian Spring” hasn’t seen anything like this before now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. 

Regarding Salt, the above article mentions an unsuccessful attempt to storm Prime Minister Abdullah Ensour’s home, as well as an arson attack on a civil affairs office. I should also mention that there have been other instances of unrest here: two government vehicles set on fire, a bank vandalized, the main road between Salt and Amman temporarily blocked by burning tires, and the typical traffic-stopping, mildly destructive protests. Last night, I fell asleep to shouting, sirens, and gunshots (which were probably just fired into the air at a nearby rally). 

Thankfully, things have calmed down during the day. I went downtown earlier this evening (while it was still light outside) to pick up dinner for the volunteers, and though the streets were a little less crowded than normal, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. 

But please pray. Against violence. For justice. 

Salam,

Willy

Further Up and Further Out

When I was still in the States, my predominant thought on the prospect of working with deafblind children went something like this: “Won’t it be great to love on these kids, to show them the affection that they constantly long for, to touch them and hold them and see them smile in response?” 

But those thoughts were misguided: I took for granted the desire of deafblind children to be touched. 

Think about it. What would happen if a child was permanently isolated from sight and sound and largely isolated from people? What would happen if her exclusive experience of touch was a firm grip on the wrist and a cold tug in an unknown direction? What would happen if she was hit, even just once, without any warning and without ever understanding why? What would happen if she was hit often? 

What happens?

The child turns inward. 

And understandably so. It is safer.

But we know that it is also less rewarding, less fulfilling, less like life as God intends it to be. So, how do we help these beloved children of God turn outward again, open up to the world, receive real love? 

I don’t have much to say. The process is long and painstaking, I know that. So much damage has already been done. 

At the end of the day, it’s about establishing trust and, slowly but surely, forming a relationship. Without trust there is no relationship, and without a relationship there is no growth. 

This Year's Motto

I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

And because I cannot do everything,

I will not refuse to do something

that I can do. 

Edward Everett Hale, friend of Helen Keller

Cruel Possession

Hazem loves music.

Along with several other children in the deafblind unit, Hazem can hear a very little bit. One of his favorite things to do is sit on a comfy sofa, hold a music-playing toy to his ear, and gently rock back and forth, mesmerized. He could do this for hours.

In fact, he used to. 

For hours. 

For days. 

For years.

Like most people, Hazem’s family had no idea how to raise a deafblind child. But they had a very good idea of the stigma that their culture places on people with disabilities and the consequent shame that it places on their relatives. No doubt Hazem’s family was relieved to discover that they could keep their son occupied and out of the way with a little hand-held electronic device. 

Though he probably didn’t sit on a comfy sofa in his house. 

But as I was saying, Hazem loves music. More than that: because music so cruelly possessed his early childhood, he is dependent on it. Or at least he was when he first came to the Holy Land Institute. Even now, though, if the teachers here allowed Hazem to listen to music all day, he would do so and wouldn’t learn or experience anything else. 

As you can imagine, then, the teachers have worked hard to wean Hazem off of music. He can only listen at certain times, and for a certain period of time. 

My fifth or sixth day in the deafblind unit. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Hazem, his primary teacher, and I are sitting on a porch swing, gently rocking back and forth. I am sitting on Hazem’s right side, the teacher is sitting on his left, and the three of us are squished closely together. 

Hazem’s right hand begins to rub my jeans on my left thigh. He is slowly running his fingers over my cell phone. And suddenly, something clicks in his mind.  

He tries to force his hand into my pocket, and I know that he isn’t allowed to do this, so I try to push his hand away, which causes him to scream, and somehow this 13-year-old boy is using more force than I am, and his fingers are going deeper into my pocket, so I stand up, forcing his fingers out, but I cannot step away and I am bent over because Hazem now has a death-grip on me, with one hand clutching my shirt near my left shoulder and the other hand clinging to my right arm, and he is crying and screaming, and somehow someway his teacher and I manage to release his grip and distance ourselves, leaving Hazem crying and screaming at the top of his lungs on the swing. 

We must give him at least five minutes to calm down. 

And he does. It used to take him a lot longer.